"Get your boots off the dashboard," Tech demanded, looking annoyed. "They're dirty."

"So is this ship. You boys live like you're a bunch of twelve-year-olds," you shot back, doing as he asked, and taking your feet down from the ship's dashboard. You only did it to prevent another argument with the gangly clone.

"Technically, we are thirteen years old, though physically we are nearer to our thirties," Tech responded. It seemed like he was going to go into a long explanation of the subject.